


win or lose

by ohtempora



Series: swerve [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Hair-pulling, M/M, NLDS Game 5, Shower Sex, Unsafe Sex, Washington Nationals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: “Won't be over it until I am,” Bryce says. “Same as every year.”The marks on his neck are livid, twelve hours later, blooming purple and green over Bryce’s skin, and Jayson can't contain his desire to touch. Bryce tilts his head back and Jayson recognizes the signal, keeps a light hand on Bryce's exposed throat.





	win or lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atlanticslide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanticslide/gifts).



> two weeks until pitchers and catchers report! baseball is upon us! the hopeful dawning start of a new season! here is some more fic about losing.
> 
> many thanks and credit to anna_unfolding for the wonderful comment that inspired this <3 and to atlanticslide, for a prompt i kept thinking about one month later.
> 
> follows [tense and slack](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12958338), it'd probably make more sense if you read that one first.

Jayson takes eight minutes to clean the kitchen. Bryce is standing close and watching him with hot eyes while Jayson scrubs egg residue off his skillet, and there are more dishes to deal with but fuck that. They go upstairs. Bryce stays half a step behind him, wants Jayson to lead the way. Bryce is looking at him for cues like he’s done so many times before, none of that is new, but-- the context is different now. They aren’t in the clubhouse. They aren’t with the rest of the guys. It’s him, and Bryce, and no one else.

They could head back into the bedroom. He thinks about it, stopped at the top of the stairs, all the possibilities for what they could go together. And then Bryce almost crashes into him, says, "Hey," in an affronted voice, one sharp elbow connecting with Jayson’s side.

"Hold up,” Jayson says, shoving back.

Bryce mutters something he can't hear, and Jayson makes a split-second decision, takes a sharp turn into the bathroom.

"I brushed my teeth already," Bryce says. He still follows.

Jayson closes the door behind them. "Thought we could share the shower.”

"Oh," Bryce says. "Oh. Yeah”

There's a minute where they just look at each other. The edge of desperation from last night isn't apparent anymore. Talking over breakfast helped, sure, but that doesn’t mean it went away. It's always hard: the stinging loss, the knowledge they're done playing baseball for the year. But it isn't boiling over.

And this is Bryce.

"Okay," Jayson says, and steps in, telegraphing all his movements. Bryce doesn't move, lets Jayson kiss him slow, arms coming up around him after a couple seconds. Bryce kisses back until he breaks away and tucks his face against the curve of Jayson's neck and Jayson shudders, Bryce's mouth open and warm against his skin.

“I'm gonna turn on the shower,” he says. Bryce nods and sits down on the toilet, running a hand through his hair. Jayson fiddles with the controls-- it needs a minute to heat up, usually, but it'll be good for them both, help them stay in their self-imposed bubble that much longer.

Bryce's shoulders are slumped, and Jayson wonders how well he slept, if he managed much sleep at all.

“Hey,” he says, and touches Bryce, fingers skimming over his collarbone.

“Won't be over it until I am,” Bryce says. “Same as every year.”

The marks on his neck are livid, twelve hours later, blooming purple and green over Bryce’s skin, and Jayson can't contain his desire to touch. Bryce tilts his head back and Jayson recognizes the signal, keeps a light hand on Bryce's exposed throat.

“I know.” Bryce's pulse thuds under his fingertips. They've both got more shit to work through; maybe they can't fuck away all their problems, but you do what you can to deal. They had their heart to heart downstairs.

"Jesus, my knees are gonna kill me later," Jayson says, and it matters but it doesn't, because he doesn't need to be be careful for the game tomorrow. He can lie on the couch bitching about his aches and pains all he wants.

"Jay," Bryce says, suddenly all concerned, but Jayson shakes his head and sinks down, gets a hand on Bryce's thigh to brace himself. He yanks Bryce's pajama pants down to his knees.

"Don't worry about it."

Jayson bites the inside of Bryce's thigh, a full stop to end his sentence, and Bryce hisses. His knees fall open. The shower's running, filling up the room with steam. He can tell he's starting to sweat. Bryce looks wild around the eyes again, like he did last night, and Jayson wants to control it, wants to wind Bryce up tight and take him right back down.

Bryce is half-hard when Jayson licks around the head of his dick, swells right up when Jayson gets his mouth on him. He's so fucking responsive, guttural noises torn out of his chest, hips twitching up until he's filling Jayson's mouth, until Jayson can feel it in the back of his throat. Bryce isn't being polite and holding back and Jayson is absurdly pleased. He left marks on Bryce, sure, but he wants to be sore tomorrow-- wants something to show for it too.

He sucks harder, working Bryce over until Bryce is groaning. Jayson could make him come like this, it’d be so easy, but Bryce gets a hand on Jayson’s shoulder and pushes back.

"Wait," Bryce says. "I don't want to-- not yet."

Jayson pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips tingle, a little bit used. "Shower's probably hot enough now," he says.

"Good." Bryce stands, yanks his shirt up over his head, then discards it on the floor. He kicks off the pajama pants he borrowed last night. "Come on."

Jayson follows him into the shower. The water beats down hot and satisfying on his back-- he aches, like he's ached all season, the pain accumulating for every year he's played pro ball. And yeah, his knees aren't great. He relaxes, taking a deep breath, before he cages Bryce in with his arms, pushing him up against the tiled wall, and kissing him hard.

Anything he might hear is drowned out by the hiss of the shower, but it's alright, he has everything else, Bryce panting underneath him, hands slipping over Jayson's ribs. They're grinding up against each other, shitty friction, the worst kind of tease. Bryce can give him more. But kissing's so good, and when he fits his hand around the curve of Bryce's jaw, god. Bryce opens up for him, head tilting back, baring his throat. Jayson kisses droplets of water away, kisses over last night's bruises, fits his mouth over one of them and sucks hard. He shouldn't force the marks to last, but he can't help himself. Bryce wants it as much as he does.

“Jay,” Bryce says. “Jesus.” He’s so hard, dick slipping against the side of Jayson’s thigh.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Jayson says. “You want it?”

“ _Yes_.” Bryce’s hands scrabble against his sides.

“Okay.” Jayson reaches down and cups Bryce, feels where he’s wet and leaking at the tip. “Lemme just--”

There’s lube in the medicine cabinet, he’s pretty sure. He ducks out of the shower, hopping up and down when the cold air hits his skin. “Fuck,” he yelps, and Bryce's laugh is audible over the sound of the water. "Shut the hell up, you owe me for this."

"I'm letting you fuck me," Bryce says, leaning out to peer around the curtain. He's smiling, hair dripping into his eyes, and Jayson is glad to see it.

"Yeah, alright," Jayson tells him. He grabs the lube and gets back into the shower. "Turn around."

Bryce listens, bracing himself against the wall. Jayson takes a moment to admire the curve of his spine, fits a hand in the dip of his lower back, traces around to curl his fingers over Bryce's hip. He could leave bruises there too, if Bryce wanted.

He pours some lube over his fingers, slides his index finger in nice and slow. They've never talked much about their respective experiences. It was enough for Bryce to know he wasn't the only one, enough for Jayson to keep his secret. But Bryce sighs and arches up into it, and before long Jayson’s got two fingers curled inside him, his mouth on Bryce's shoulder blade, tasting water and skin and salt.

The water is only hitting half his body, he's getting cold, but it doesn't matter. Bryce says, “I'm good, if you go slow.”

Jayson wants to feel Bryce opening up around him. “Okay,” he says, and slicks himself up, squeezes Bryce's ass hard, until the skin turns white under his fingers as he presses in. He goes slow like Bryce asked him to, until he's all the way in and Bryce is panting. loud enough that Jayson can hear it over the shower.

“Yeah,” Bryce says, more breath than sound, his head falling forwards. “Come on.”

Jayson starts to move, looking down at where they're joined. He watches himself fuck in and out. Bryce is flushed red all down his chest and back, from the heat of the shower and Jayson's hands and god knows what else. He's letting Jayson fuck him, isn't touching himself, his palms flat against the wall. Jayson twists his fingers in the wet curling locks at the nape of Bryce's neck, pulls, until Bryce’s spine is bowed into a perfect curve.

“You feel good,” Jayson says. “You’re so good.” He tugs Bryce’s hair again. “You should jack it.”

Bryce makes a noise, an affirmation, gets a hand on his dick. He’s stroking himself in time with Jayson’s thrusts, and Jayson pulls his hair again, relishes the liquid heat in his stomach when Bryce makes another needy little noise.

“Wanna feel it,” Jayson says. He squeezes the back of Bryce’s neck. “Come whenever the fuck you want.”

Shifting more of his weight onto his free arm, Bryce jerks himself off faster, hand slicked with the water and his own precome. Jayson’s fucking into him slow and hard, holding him in place with a hand on his hip. He thinks back to last night and keeps his other hand at Bryce’s throat.

Bryce comes, clenching around him; his head drops until his forehead is resting against the wall. He comes all over the tub floor and Jayson watches as it’s washed away by the shower spray. slows his hips, rocking into Bryce carefully. If Bryce is oversensitive, if there’s only so much he can take, he’ll stop, except-- “Keep going,” Bryce says. Jayson needed that.

“Fuck, kid,” he says, slams in hard. Bryce gasps, and it echoes off the tile. Jayson thrusts in a couple more times, no rhythm to it, sparks pooling at the base of his spine. He pulls out when he’s right on the edge, jacks himself a couple times until he’s coming over Bryce’s ass, his hand tight on Bryce’s waist.

Jayson takes a minute. His thighs are trembling. Bryce is still slumped over, though he stands up eventually, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“Turn around,” Jayson says again, and he grabs a washcloth so he can clean Bryce off. He keeps his hands gentle, and Bryce doesn’t stiffen up as Jayson touches him, dipping in to brush a finger over his hole, then stroking the corded muscle of his thighs.

“Thanks,” Bryce says, and passes him the conditioner sitting on the shower rail. Jayson lathers up his hair, doing his best to make room for Bryce to actually get clean. When his fingers start to prune, Jayson turns off the water, gets out and hands Bryce a towel. If they’re going to keep talking, it shouldn’t be here.

“Come on,” he says, wrapping his own towel around his waist, leading the way back to the bedroom.

When they’re in the other room Bryce says, "You meant it, right," finally looking up at him. "Uh-- what you said earlier." He scrubs the towel through his hair. "About being a phone call away."

"Shit, yeah." Jayson frowns at him. "What the hell. It’s been how many years and you think I tell you things I don't mean?"

"But if you're on another team." Bryce swallows. "Or--"

"Retired?"

Bryce nods.

"You can say it out loud, you know. Might have to get used to it." He thinks about Bryce's earlier dig about wanting another contract, where it might have come from. Jayson tosses his towel on the bed, turns to dig boxers out of his drawer. He's going to have to lend Bryce some more clothes until Bryce decides he wants Jayson to finally drive him back to the stadium for his car, or to drop him off at home. "I'm not going to ditch you because I'm not playing anymore."

"Okay," Bryce says.

"You wanna get into this now?" Jayson asks. They haven’t had much time to process. By the time they’re sitting down for lunch, the team could be missing its GM and manager.  

"Not really." Bryce is clutching his towel loosely around his waist and Jayson rolls his eyes, finds him a pair of team-issued sweatpants and a shirt. Good enough. "Kris texted me," Bryce adds. “When I woke up.”

"You wish him luck?"

"I mean, I had to. Don’t wanna be that asshole."

"They'll probably lose to LA," Jayson says-- he’s got no compunction about being that asshole-- and he's relieved all over again when Bryce laughs.

They head back downstairs. When Jayson checks his phone he’s got plenty of commiserating messages. He ignores most of them. There are vague plans from the rest of the team to do something, get together sometime soon to commemorate another failure of a season, one final hurrah before they scatter across the continent to arbitration and free agency. None of it is pressing.

Bryce is staring at his phone too. He's frowning.

"You busy today?" Jayson asks. “Or did Bryant text you back?”

Neither question gets a yes. Bryce shakes his head, sets his phone screen side down. He leans back in his chair until it screeches against the floor and then he sits upright, startled. Jayson tries to muffle his laugh, doesn’t do a great job.

“I don’t wanna be in your hair,” Bryce says. “I can call an Uber whenever.”

“Nah,” Jayson says, surprises himself with how fast he says it. "You're welcome to hang out," He's got a big condo and nobody in it but him. Eventually Bryce will have to go back home, then back to Vegas. No one said it had happen immediately, even if there’s a limit on much longer he’ll have Bryce underfoot.   

Bryce looks at him for a while before he says, "Okay."

In past years, after postseason losses, they've all gone their own way. The offseason is unfolding in front of them and Jayson feels aimless, doesn't know where he'll be, what he's doing. Doesn’t know if he'll have to train like he normally does.

"I can drive you over to yours after we deal with locker cleanout," Jayson says. "If you wanna pick up your shit for a while."

Bryce looks at him some more. "That'd be good," he says eventually. “Like I said. If you don’t mind.”

"I really don’t," Jayson says. It's a plan. He’s always liked having a plan.

And that's the crux of it-- they've got the rest of the year and then some to figure this out. Fall’s turning into winter, days getting shorter, nights getting longer.

Everything’s about to change, but it’s okay. They've got nothing but time.


End file.
